Snapshot
by Crystal Phoenix1
Summary: A short story about the summer holidays.


The first in a series of one page fics which I wrote three years ago, after I'd finished my A-levels (Three years winces I'm getting old!). 

Obviously it's not a movieverse fic and the ages and dates can be taken as being the ones used in the early 90's when I first saw Thunderbirds (I really AM getting old!)

**Disclaimer: **I wish it was mine because even though the movie was a horrific travesty of the original show it is making someone a lot of money. Unfortunately the characters all belong to Carlton who would be unwise to sue me as I'm hovering on the verge of bankruptcy as it is.

**Enjoy, and make sure you leave me a review. **Flames will be used to roast Alan and Fermat slowly on a spit!

Snapshot 1 

The cool evening breeze rustled the leaves of the trees outside the palatial mansions of Los Angeles. The huge Californian sun dipped behind the horizon, it's dying rays staining the air blood red. Five boys sat under a tree in the huge backyard of their house. Tanned and healthy looking, they were perfect adverts for the All-American kid. The eldest stood up, looking up at the tree in whose shade they sat. Ten year old Scott Tracy was starting to get board. Ever the action man the lazy Sunday atmosphere of the evening was beginning to irritate him.

"I'm board!" He exclaimed.

Virgil, Scott's junior by a year lay back on the grass.

"Gee Scott," he said, "It must have been at least ten minutes since we quit playing tag." His voice held just enough sarcasm to irritate his brother, who stood over him, scowling. Virgil closed his brown eyes and said, in an exaggeratedly tired voice, "Leave me alone Scott, I'm exhausted."

Scott made an irritated noise in his throat and turned away. The tallest of the group, slender with dark brown hair and eyes Scott was the image of their father, the millionaire ex-astronaut Jeff Tracy. Stockier Virgil had a lighter brown mop of untidy hair, but a darker complexion, a tribute to the mother that only Scott could really remember. Next to him sat John, the quietest member of the Tracy clan, tall with corn blond hair and a thin sensitive face. John was the groups intellectual, at eight he was already studying French as a second language.

The two babies came next, six year old Gordon and five year old Alan. Both with blue eyes and round faces, strangers often took them for twins, but it could be seen that there were subtle differences between them. Gordon's round face was the result of his bone structure, and his hair was of a more coppery tint than Alan's whose colouring was almost white and deceptively angelic. Scott tended to protect his youngest brother from the teasing of their siblings, reserving the right to bully Alan as his own special privilege. Alan looked up from were he and Gordon were making roads for Alan's ever-present toy car in the dust at the tree base and said loyally,

"I'm board too." Scott grinned at him and kicked the soles of John and Virgil's shoes.

"Come on, get up." He told them, sighing slightly John did so but it took all Scott's strength to haul the more reluctant Virgil to his feet.

"Now what?" he asked, as the group trooped towards the back door of the house.

"Let's go for a swim." Replied Scott, "The pool should be a nice temperature now." Scott marched on ahead through the kitchen door, to the stairs, followed by Alan and Gordon. John sighed and followed them, Virgil stuck his tongue out at his older brothers retreating back. Usually the two were best friends, but since the beginning of the summer Scott had become unbearable, bossy and stubborn.

Virgil shrugged his shoulders and walked to the music room, he had just started taking piano lessons and was keen to practice. Reaching the room, he opened the heavy door and seated himself at the piano. Through the open window he could hear his brothers splashing in the pool, yelling at each other in an impromptu game of water polo. Virgil grinned, the summer had just started, school was out, and they had no responsibilities for five more weeks. Placing his fingers on the white keys, he began to play.


End file.
